


Sands of Time

by il_mio_capitano



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/il_mio_capitano/pseuds/il_mio_capitano
Summary: Giles finds himself at the best beach party ever with lots of familiar faces. It should be idyllic but something keeps nagging at him.Written for Summer of Giles 2018





	Sands of Time

Rupert Giles opened his eyes. There was a hot afternoon’s sun on his face and surprisingly, a little sand on his lips. He rose with a groan and spat away the taste of salt. His head had hit some sort of lowing lying concrete defence, whether sea or military he couldn’t be sure, and there was a smooth rock near his feet that must have been the cause of his ignominy. He spotted his glasses, thrown free on his fall and miraculously undamaged, and indeed, apart from the familiar heat on his forehead that usually preceded swelling, he seemed pretty undamaged himself.

There was laughter and shouting from the volleyball game nearer the sea and many small groups of Sunnydale survivors dotted on the beach. Many of the people he’d come to know over the years as comrades in fact, and none of them, thankfully, in the process of rushing to his aid. Giles dusted down his shorts and the sand from his legs and inspected the concrete defence he’d tripped over. It was more of a step he realised, leading to a flat triangular base perhaps ten feet wide at its base and raised a couple of feet from the sand. It was an unlikely strategic position for a battery gun installation from almost any war and Giles stepped forward to climb up and see if he could figure out its intended purpose.

“Holy crap, Giles!” It was Xander’s voice that rang out behind him, clear and true. “We can’t take you anywhere, can we?”

Giles smiled ruefully at first and then broadly at the sight of his young friend. Dressed in a bright red Hawaiian shirt and shorts, his unruly dark hair bouncing over his brown eyes, Xander Harris was exactly as Giles remembered him.

“Oh this?” Giles touched his forehead self-consciously. “It’s nothing really.”

“Maybe by your standards. That skull of yours must look like a Roman mosaic by now.”

Giles glared playfully.

“It’s good to see you again too,” he replied. “How long has it been?”

Xander looked puzzled.

“About ten minutes. We were just talking by the salad bar.” The younger man pointed to the awnings and tents that had been assembled for the party’s food and drink. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

Memories of their conversation came flooding back and Giles felt foolish.  

“You were telling me that you’ve developed a taste for olives,” he said hastily to cover his fresh embarrassment. “See, I remember. I was just teasing you.”

Xander stared at him intensely for a moment and then shrugged.

“Always hated them as a kid,” he confirmed. “I guess I’ve changed in lots of ways as I’ve gotten older. You look…” He paused in thoughtfulness. “The same. I mean, there’s no tweed, but exactly the same. What’s with that?”

“Healthy living,” joked Giles.

“Right.”

“Speaking of, let’s go get us some beer.”

They walked companionably together to the shaded area of awnings and marquees and dug out two bottles from a barrel of ice. Smoke from the grill area was wafting pleasantly away to the west of them leaving just the barest hint of peppers and meat on the back of their throats. Their beach was enclosed by rocks and cliffs to the east and the sea was spilling breakers onto the foreshore. Some of their party were splashing or swimming out further. Giles recognised so many of the Potentials it lifted his heart to see their victory over the First Evil being celebrated with such a simple joy of being alive on such a beautiful day.

“It’s perfect isn’t it?” commented Xander and Giles quietly agreed, not wishing to draw attention to the obvious grief that must have been skipping through his friend’s mind.

There was distraction enough though as some sort of good natured disagreement was breaking out on the volleyball court. Riley Finn and his wife - Giles couldn’t remember her name - were disputing a line call against Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Cordelia Chase.  Giles expected Wesley to pompously stand his ground but to his surprise, the younger Watcher was smiling, and the joke seemed to be more on Finn and his zealous competitive streak until he too finally saw the funny side and relaxed to replay the point.

“Who’s the girl watching Wes?” Xander asked. “The tall girl with the auburn hair? He keeps looking across to her for approval. Especially when they win a point.”

The girl in question broke into a beautiful smile and Xander saluted his beer in comprehension. “Ah, go Wesley!”

“That’s Fred something or other,” Giles explained, thinking hard. “Burkle, Winifred Burkle. After he left us he met her in LA, sort of.” He anticipated Xander’s next question. “It’s a _really_ long story.”  Long he thought, and yet, didn’t it have something of an _ending_? The memories vanished quickly leaving only the sense of slight disbelief. “I am surprised to see her here,” he muttered.

“Why?”

Before Giles could respond, a sharp cry of “Help! Fire!” made both men turn their heads.

“Fire, fire, fire, apocalypse, whatever it takes to get you people’s attention…help!” It was Anya Jenkins, clutching a grilling fork and prodding some hapless steak on one of the barbeques. Giles grinned. While the grill was indeed belching more smoke than it should, it was hardly in danger of melting down to the earth’s core.

Xander was quickly to her aid, taking the long-handled fork and moving the meat away from the hottest part of the flames. The reward for his heroics must have been to see his fiancée throw herself into the arms of another man though, because Anya, having completely moved on from the crisis, shouted, “Giles!” enthusiastically and flung herself around the Englishman’s body, pinning his arms and that familiar, needy, greedy way he had achingly missed all those years.

“Giles, thank god you are here.”

“Hello, Anya.” Giles winced and extricated himself politely. “Is there a problem?”

“I’ll say there is. Now you can take over this stupid cooking so I can be with Xander. It’s lame and it’s boring. It’s perfect for you.”

“Always with the salesmanship, I see,” Giles dryly countered.

“It’s OK,” Xander said, tying on a yellow apron with a chirpy toucan design, “I’ve got this. We can exact vengeance on the dead meat together, honey.”

“I don’t see why we have to even bother,” Anya grumbled. “Can’t we just get Willow to do all this with a poof of something?”

“Because she’s away exploring the dunes with Tara.”

“Wait,” Giles interrupted. “Tara is here?” Something about that bothered him enormously and yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

“Duh, Giles,” Anya swatted back impatiently. “Of course she is.” She turned her attention back to her fiancé. “I want to go and explore the dunes too.”

They began to kiss and, in an act of self-preservation and quite possibly censorship, Giles took the opportunity to slip away discreetly. He grabbed another beer and walked aimlessly along the beach, greeting people as he passed by, smiling politely, but never allowing himself to linger too long with any one group. It was a fine turnout for the party. So many familiar faces, almost too many in a way, he thought? No, of course not, he dismissed the idea as silly and walked on. There was something about the sound of waves gently raking a beach that Giles found hypnotically comforting. The peace was an illusion of course, his head was still sore and his temple throbbed in complaint and maybe he was a little drunk, because his long range vision was starting to blur. There was something he was supposed to remember? Something he had been thinking before? Something not quite right?

A seagull flew overhead and as it rode the thermals, Giles admired the elegance of its mastery over the elements. Whether or not he had perfect long range vision was unimportant he decided, only the immediate landscape mattered and that was still beautifully peaceful, just the laughter of so many friends. He walked barefoot on the sugary-white sand that sparkled and crunched under foot. Hadn’t he brought shoes? He felt sure he’d brought shoes. More than that, he felt it was tremendously unlike him to not have brought shoes and he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. The memory thing rankled him again, nagged at his brain that there was something he was supposed to figure out. A puzzle to solve? He stepped into the sea to clear his thoughts but unlike the English seaside experiences he remembered as a child, the water was not a cold shock but warm to the touch. He risked a couple of steps into the sea and let the comforting waves splash over his ankles then recede and suck water and sand back out between his toes. The action was both mesmerising and humbling. In a way, they were all just sand.

It was then he became aware of another figure doing exactly the same thing further along the tide line. Someone he remembered so clearly it seemed like only yesterday he’d had the phone call about losing her whilst defeating Glory. No, he thought, the phone call was later and about something else? A simple traffic accident? Dawn had been in tears as she’d told him…

Giles walked cautiously towards Buffy, afraid to call out, afraid to lose everything again. She only turned to look at him when he was within six feet and even then, he was afraid to speak. Fighting an impulse to put his hands in the pockets of his shorts, he pulled up hesitantly and watched as she swept her blonde hair out of her eyes to view him better.

“Hi, Giles.”

They hugged without further words. Giles felt a few tears on his tee-shirt and his own glasses misting up. Eventually, it was she who broke the embrace first, roughly wiping her eyes but smiling all the time at him.

“Buffy, I…I think something might be terribly wrong,” he blurted out, drawing the inevitable eye-rolling in response.

“Jeez, can we not have one nice day without an apocalypse?”

“It’s not an apocalypse, it’s just… don’t you think there are an awful lot of people here?”

“It’s a celebration, so it doesn’t seem excessive, no.”

“What I mean is, there’s Andrew over there.” He pointed in emphasis. “And he’s talking to Jonathan.” Buffy dutifully stared for a moment and looked blankly back at him. “And Tara is here,” he continued.  “And oh my Lord, that was Anya wasn’t it? And…” He stopped himself to study her reaction. “And you.”

“Did the drinking start before or after you did that to yourself?” She pulled on his jaw to inspect the bruise on his forehead.

“This could be serious, Buffy. Don’t you remember any of these people to be…, well, to be blunt…?”

But he’d lost her attention to someone behind him.

“Mom! You made it,” Buffy cried, pushing around him and running to the back of the rocky beach. Giles followed at a discrete pace and watched his former Slayer fling herself at Joyce Summers. The mother-daughter reunion was deeply touching and Giles looked away, looked out to the sea, looked back along the beach to the rest of the party, looked anywhere for distraction really. Harmony and Larry had moved to his mysterious flat iron concrete base to sit down, but Amanda and a girl he thought he knew as Nancy had intercepted them and the four now raced towards the sea and jumped into the waves. He watched them laughing and splashing with the sheer pleasure of being alive and felt the side of his head throb again.

Buffy and her mother were still lost in hugs and hushed exchanges so, as was his custom in awkward situations, Giles yielded to the impulse and produced a white handkerchief from his pocket and began to thoroughly clean his glasses. Returning them pristine, his finger caught slightly at his temple and he was surprised to see the bruise was bleeding slightly.  
Buffy and Joyce were both grinning at him by then.

“Rupert. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Possibly several,” he muttered then remembered his manners. “Joyce. How have you’ve been?”

“Fine. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to steal my daughter away from you. I feel like we have a lot of catching up to do.”

He saw the joy in Buffy’s eyes and he couldn’t blame her. She wanted to spend time with her mother again and he understood that impulse.

“Of course.”

Joyce smiled at him.

“It’s a lovely spot here isn’t it?”

“Oh, quite, quite heavenly,” he agreed, but Buffy sniffed.

“It’s a nice beach, Giles, but let’s not get carried away, remember I’ve swiped my Metro card through the pearly gates once already. I think I can tell the difference.”

More than once, he thought, but it was, Giles conceded, an excellent point and he was prepared to let the two women walk away, arm in arm, when Buffy turned playfully and held up her free hand.

“Hey, Giles, how many fingers am I holding up?” With the sun behind her, he thought he could see right through her arm. No, that really was a trick of the light and he pulled himself together.

“Which hand?” he deadpanned, and she laughed again which felt just as warm and comforting as the sun on his cheeks.

“Stay off the tequila, Rupert,” advised Joyce. “Oh, have you seen Dawn yet?”

The sense of comfort immediately chilled to nothing as he thought of Dawn. There was something about the thought of her being at this party that frightened him somehow.

“No… erm…I don’t think so. I haven’t seen her anyway.” Giles waved his arms to express he didn’t know anymore than that and stuffed his hands in his pockets awkwardly. Joyce nodded uncertainly, picking up on his fluster but unwilling to push for further answers. Giles watched the two women walk away from him, and back to the main party but he knew, in that moment, he wasn’t alone.

He turned and looked up at the rocks to his back. Tara Maclay was wearing a shimmering summer dress that flowed as the breeze pulled it to the west. He’d missed the events that had led up to her murder and his memories were unsullied by the pain of having to be a witness to that cruel, yet random act. To his mind, she was always the same girl, locked in time.

“You won’t see Dawn.”

“And you know this how?” he ventured cautiously.

“I keep in touch.”

“That must be quite difficult in the circumstances.”

“You of all people know that magick is not part of the mind or body, but of the soul.” Tara tilted her head. “I think we’re running out of time, Mr Giles and it’s important she not be alone.”

“Who’s not to be alone? Dawn? Is she in some kind of danger? What’s going on, Tara? Do you understand this?” He climbed the rocks to her level. “Is it something to do with Ethan? Some sick joke? Or Eyghon?” That was an incredibly sobering thought. “Oh God, dream states and death are somewhat his bailiwick.”

She was momentarily phased by that.

“Is that British for wheelhouse?” Tara dismissed the verbal sideroad and shook her head. “There are no demons here, I would feel them.”

“It’s not some Hell dimension then,” Giles reasoned. “And this place is awfully specific for an afterlife, plus I’m inclined to bow to Buffy’s experience on the matter. And _this_ ,” He touched the swelling pain on his forehead. “ _This_ physically hurts.”

Her eyes twinkled.

“A little too much for Heaven and not nearly enough for Hell?”

“Precisely. Tara, if you understand what is happening, why can’t you just tell me? Or better yet, do something about it?”

She shook her head.

“Something like this takes a lot of borrowed power.”

He gasped as he looked over her shoulder and Tara turned too. The cliff face was no longer visible behind them, it was like an acidic sea mist had dissolved them, and the sea and landscape too. If it was borrowed power, then it was fading and the beach landscape was starting to slowly contract.

“We should go, Tara. Get back to the others. Warn them or something…”

But she declined.

“It’s not really a threat we can warn anyone about. You should go, Mr Giles. I’m afraid it has to be you.”

“What should I do?”

She shrugged.

“Go back to the beginning.”

 

Giles descended and moved quickly towards the comfort of the smoking grills, beach balls, guitar music and carefree laughter. He moved briskly, turning only once to see the rocks he and Tara had conversed on where now shrouded in the mist. There were fewer people now, but no-one seemed to notice. He had to go back to where it had started, where he had started. It would have been the perfect vantage spot and yet it had been completely vacant all afternoon, no-one had set up there, and Giles understood why now. Breaking into a run, he ducked all attempts at conversation, all distractions designed to project the perfect party, until he found himself once more at the base of the flat iron platform.

He climbed the step that had been the cause of his earlier downfall and felt the barrier of magick protecting whoever was up there. It was strong but he let it play through his hand, detecting weak spots until he could launch himself through. Magick filled his ears and pain rattled at the cut on his forehead, but the pain was his anchor, it was his bloody determination to confront rather than meekly accept.

He gasped as the pain subsided indicating he had breached his objective. Far from empty, the rock was littered with what seemed to be a garage sale of objects. Clothes mainly, but books, phones and tablets, lanterns, candles and an assortment of stuffed toys. He spotted a rose quartz crystal and a pink pig, and even the gourd that had been given to him by the Watchers Council when he’d first been sent to America.

It was not just some jumble sale though, in amongst the objects was a lone figure, small, bird-like with legs crossed and wearing a hooded robe.

Giles spoke.

“I don’t know who you are or how you got me to come here, but this has to stop.”

There was no movement, no acknowledge the figure could even hear him.

“This isn’t real,” he continued, talking a bolder step forward. “These people, you shouldn’t be interfering with people’s grief by resurrecting their dead friends and lovers.”

The figure responded by pulling down the hood to reveal a white-haired woman. She was old, spare, grey, her face a sea of wrinkles denoting a full, troubled life, but there was something familiar about the eyes that glistened with red, watery amusement.

“I’ve missed your sanctimonious little lectures, Rupert, I really have.”

The voice was weaker certainly but still cut through him like a knife.Giles dropped to the ground to stare into her face, fearful of a truth he didn’t want to believe.

“Willow? Oh my god. What happened to you?”

His question raised a shrug.

“I got old, Giles. Now ask yourself, how come you don’t know this? Oh,” she added sarcastically. “And now ask yourself if you really want this spell to stop.”

“How long has it been?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her and the cruel deterioration age had wrought to what had once been little more than a child when he’d first met her.

“That doesn’t really matter. Damnit. Of all the people who could’ve figured this out, why is it you?”

“I fell and hurt my head,” he admitted ruefully.

She closed her eyes and chuckled. Giles took the opportunity to sit next to her. “Why are you doing this, Willow?”

It was clearly painful for her to turn her head but she managed slowly with her whole upper body.

“I wanted everyone to have a moment of happiness. To be with the ones they care about.”

“And what about you? Don’t you deserve happiness?”

“I’m the only one left.”

“Oh god, where’s Dawn? Is she..?”

Willow interrupted him.

“Married with three kids and an antique business. We don’t talk but I suppose her youngest will be finishing grad school next year. So don’t worry, she’s very much alive and disapproving. You’d be so proud,” she added curtly.

“Stop this spell. I can see that it is hurting you.”

“That won’t matter for long.” She wheezed the last few words and fought for her breath. “You should go now and be with Jenny Calendar while there’s still time.”

“I’m not some sock puppet for you to pair up.”

“Everyone here is real.”

It was a shocking claim, but the borrowed power made sense now, he realised. All the objects around them were personal effects and the people with magick were inadvertently lending that to the mix.

“But this is killing you,” he said desperately. “I don’t want this to be the end of your life.”

“Ah. That’s not something either of us have a say in. The medical profession has spoken first and tonight really is the end.”

Giles looked at her determined face and understood her resolve. She was as stubborn as he was, and her last action on this earth was to throw a party. It was a testament to friendship, comradeship, and love, and Giles understood the role he was to play.

He took her hand and boosted her magick with what little he had. In the objects around them, the gourd started to spin and small particles of white magick flickered with boldness around their bond.

“What are you doing, Giles?”

“Going back to the beginning.” Came the simple reply. The white flecks of magick formed a curtain at the front of the rock which swished open to show night falling and the few people left obliviously partying. Then, first Xander came and joined them, then Buffy and the four sat in a circle wordlessly supporting each other as they had from the very start.

He felt Willow’s head rest against his shoulder, her energy draining, and he looked around fondly at his three best friends for the last time before inevitably, Rupert Giles closed his eyes.

 

_The End._

 

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to littleotter73 for staunch support and mad beta skillz.


End file.
